


Mine

by QueenCurphy



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rape, Rape Recovery, Sexual Violence, Slash, Violence, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCurphy/pseuds/QueenCurphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glenn's missing, presumed dead; but one man refuses to believe his lover is gone. </p><p>Daryl is on the hunt; for his one true mate, and anyone and everyone that may have hurt him.</p><p>He'll drink the blood and eat the flesh of those who took what was his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

The room is dark and cold, he lays upon the concrete ground, head pounding as the warm trickle of blood pools his ear. He's struggling for breath, his lungs straining and constricting as he quietly gasps into the floor. He can't remember how long he's been locked away in this place, he would estimate a week, but it's felt more like a lifetime; the daily beatings have made it feel like every painful second has dragged on sluggishly. Glenn coughs up more blood, too exhausted to do anything else, he lets it run from the corner of his dry mouth and down his chin; he stopped giving a fuck about his dignity when the Mexican man had pulled down his jeans and violated him. He supposed this was it, after fighting against hoards of walkers, living day to day with minimal supplies and surviving the most horrific plague to hit the earth; he was going to die at the hands of this man they called the governor. Glenn winced as he heard the padlock to the door being pulled; time for another humiliating beating.

He just wished, if he was destined to die here, it would happen sooner rather than later.

***

Daryl wasn't much of a quitter, that sort of attitude just wasn't in his blood. What was in his blood, however, hidden in his DNA, was a rare and powerful gene that pushed him to continue scouring the Georgia woods. The sun scorched down on him, warming the sweat stained shirt that clung to his back, he was down to his last arrow and his water supply was dangerously low; but he wouldn't stop until he'd tracked him down and held him in his arms. He'd volunteered to go on the run almost two weeks ago, and no one had seen him since. The group looked for him, but they hadn't gone far; Rick finally deciding Glenn had perished at the hands of the walkers, but Daryl knew different.

He felt it in his bones.

Daryl knew he was alive, if Glenn had died he'd have sensed it. He would have lost all appetite, fallen into a hostile depression; all the usual symptoms of losing a mate.

So Daryl picked up his scent and tracked his movements by following his trail; the tracks were no longer than a week old, Glenn was so close he could almost feel the vibrations from his body. When he came to a battered old cabin in the middle of nowhere, he stopped dead and dropped behind the closest bush. He watched through narrow eyes as a man of Mexican nationality grabbed the padlocked door and shook it; like he was trying to make himself heard before he entered. 

Almost like he was trying to fill the person inside with fear. 

Daryl felt the wave of terror through his gut, and that's when he was certain Glenn was the frightened soul inside the door. Without a moments hesitation, he leapt from behind the bushes and charged towards the man. His hand was tight around the base of the man's head before he'd even spotted him, and Daryl took great pleasure in cracking his skull against the oak railing outside the cabin door. The man fell to the ground, making a pathetic thud as he lay unconscious and bleeding. 

Daryl let the smallest growl slip from his thin lips, something he didn't let happen very often; unless he was blinded with rage.

He heard the shuffling inside, the weak sob of his mate; the heavy copper stench of dried blood hit his over sensitive nostrils with brute force. The anger was overshadowed with panic as Daryl bounded through the opening to find Glenn, curled in a fetal position, eyes shut tight. He looked so vulnerable, so fucking afraid; the anger returned to Daryl, in ten fold. 

No matter how enraged he felt, how close he felt to hunting every one of Glenn's attackers down and tearing them limb from limb, right now Glenn needed him; he needed his man.

Daryl stepped closer, softening his footsteps when he noticed Glenn jumped at every sound. He knelt by his trembling form, hands reaching out but stopping just above once beautiful, pale skin; skin that was now marred with jagged cuts, swollen bruises and stained with congealing blood. 

"Glenn." He whispered hoarsely.

If Glenn had had an ounce of energy in him, he'd have scrambled onto all fours and nestled into Daryl's lap; but a slurred whimper was all he could muster.

"Dar..." 

Daryl was just about keeping it together, but the lingering smell of sex was bothering him. The scent was definitely on Glenn, but Daryl and he hadn't been together in two weeks; the instinctive possessiveness bubbled deep in Daryl's stomach. As Glenn shook on the urine stained floor, Daryl's eyes flickered down to his mate's jeans; sure enough, dry blood stained through the denim covering Glenn's backside. Fury, anger, rage and a million other emotions swept through Daryl, and without thinking, he let a thundering roar of a growl bounce through the dark room. Somebody had beaten his mate to near death, and then violated him in the worst way possible. 

It wasn't immediate to Daryl, the second give-away scent that crawled under his nose, his fury and despair towards his mate's rape had clouded his judgement; but he soon picked up the familiar smell. 

Another of his kind.

The scent was old, made around four days ago, but it was there and presenting itself to Daryl; almost taunting him with it's musky stench. Whoever had abused Glenn had not been the wolf, that would have been obvious to Daryl as soon as he'd entered the cabin; but this man gave off a powerful aroma, he was a pack leader maybe?

Daryl thought that impossible; how could there be so many of his rare breed in one place for long enough to chose a pack leader? He was only aware of himself and his late brother, Merle, as the only of their kind in Georgia; the bloodline was weakening, less women were happy to bare offspring. Werewolves were rapidly becoming extinct.

So Daryl began to sniff out the perimeter of the cramped room, trying to learn the scent in his memory; so he could hunt the bastard down and rip his head from his shoulders. The other scent, the one of the human who had been with Glenn, and violated him, was growing stronger as Daryl reached the door; a shaky breath rattled in his chest, realisation sinking in. The Mexican man, knocked out stone cold on the ground outside, had touched Glenn, HIS Glenn. He'd stolen the gentle man's innocence, hurt him, made him feel used and dirty. Daryl wasn't going to let it slip, not by a long shot; the man would pay the ultimate price for taking what wasn't his.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and let his poncho slip over his head, grabbing it with large, calloused hands, he placed it over Glenn, who had dropped into a deep sleep. His boots clunked across the floor as he marched straight for the man; who was twitching gently, trying to rouse himself from unconsciousness.

***

Martinez laughed coldly in his dream, his greedy hands running roughly down the Asian man's stomach as he tried and failed to squirm away.

"Hey now China doll, I ain't gonna break ya." He leered with the darkest of smiles on his face, "Not yet, anyway."

The kid just sobbed beneath him, he looked absolutely pathetic, he thought to himself.

He pulled at his zipper, dragging the kid's jeans down to his knees in one swift movement; he watched the Asian clench his cheeks together, an attempt to protect himself, but that just made his cock jump all the more. He was going to take what he wanted from his new toy, and there was nothing he could do to stop him. He liked his meat floppy and exhausted, with no fight or hope in them; the beating he'd given the kid was more than enough to stabilise him, leaving him motionless and bleeding on the ground. With one last look at his handy work, Martinez plunged into the kid, no preparation or lubrication, apart from a mouthful of spit on his dick. The kid cried out, a mouth full of blood and swollen gums, he was no match for the larger man that pumped fast and hard into him; Martinez felt skin and muscle stretch and tear as he pushed three rough fingers in beside his cock, coming violently when the kid jerked violently with the pitiful plea for mercy on his lips.

The dream, the memory, was playing on Martinez's mind as he slowly came round, his brain also working overtime to remember why he was laid out in the first place. He just hoped the kid hadn't escaped; he was more than looking forward to his next round with him. He was going to strangle the kid until he passed out, he wanted to come whilst watching the life slip from the Asian's tear-filled eyes. 

As his eyelids fluttered open, a dull ache grinding through his skull, he found himself staring up into a pair of jagged, amber eyes. Two enormous paws, covered in thick, black fur stood firmly on the ground on each side of his head; the dog poised over him was impossibly tall, built like a tank and quite notably full of aggression. Martinez felt so terrified, he thought he felt urine seep down his leg; the dog's face moved closer to his, snarling and baring impressively razor sharp teeth inches from his throat. 

The dog glared into his terror filled pupils, right through to his soul; it was trying to tell him something, making a point. As frightened as Martinez was, he felt it, felt the message it tried to convey.

It knew what he'd done, it had seen the monster he'd become.

With no weapon to hand, and the large beast now millimetres from his face, he knew there was no escape, no hope of getting out of the mess he'd created. He trembled beneath it's tremendous height, cowering as a sob slipped from his parted mouth; he was as afraid and helpless as the kid had been when he'd raped him. He could feel hot breath from the dog's wet muzzle on his face, it's whiskers bristling against his unshaven face; time stood still as two pairs of eyes looked into each other. 

The dog suddenly stepped to the side, circling Martinez to stand between his raised knees. A heavy sigh of relief emptied from his lungs, maybe he wasn't going to die today.

Pure, raw agony abruptly ripped through his body in a sudden burst of white light, it took a moment of nerve-crunching shock before Martinez felt the wet warmth spread across his crotch. The dog stepped back, growling it's victory, it's muzzle coated with fresh, sticky blood. He shrieked, shrill, hysterical screams of pain; his eyes wide and rolling to the back of his head. 

He blacked out seconds later, the loss of blood and agonising shock waves proving too much to bare.

***

Daryl felt the man hadn't suffered for long enough, he'd writhed in agony for a couple of minutes before passing out. He'd wanted to watch him bleed out slowly, look into his eyes and see that pain he'd caused flow through the bastards brain.

Now Daryl was going to finish him off, the way any monster should be; he was going to make sure whoever found the Mexican's body knew just what they'd got themselves into. That's if Daryl didn't get to them first, and show them first hand. He stood over the unconscious man again, head raising to look up into the darkening sky, amber eyes finding the moon. With a snarl of his piercing teeth, he darted down, jaws grasping the mans chest and tearing the flesh away. Another savage bite and Daryl had the man's heart between his teeth, slicing the organ into chunks and then spitting it onto the floor. The adrenaline pulsed through him, his instinct to protect and to kill spilling from his veins. He threw his head back, his dark, shaggy mane whipping behind his ears; a piercing howl echoed into the night sky, ringing through the deadly silence.

It was in his DNA to hunt down and kill those who tainted the innocent blood of his mate; a wolf held a grudge for a lifetime, and he wouldn't stop until every last cunt was dead under his feet.


End file.
